i.
the sun slips down
casts wine-red shadows
on a cool tin roof
near the clouds
in the dank of the city
as dusk sings a song
and extends a hand
of golden strands
to wipe three tears
from the blush of your face

ii.
the world is a sea-song
a great blue oblivion
ebbing and flowing
and in the midnight
coming and going
an endless tumult
of water and air
the turbulent swell
where self is soil
and soul is self

iii.
you confess to me:
memory is water
it flows in tunnels
small separate channels
the dark endless passage
which no one can see
and warms in summer
and freezes in fall
trickling in gutters
from you to me

upon a hill with the birch and pine
into the shade of north mountain rain
past the foot-marks and berry bushes
i tear into the frame of what makes me.

i dig holes into dim reflections
and use and fuse the self shut.

tongue can taste the ripping of wounds
the sour and gluttonous spite
my greedy mouth chews and chews.
teeth tear the rusty bearings lose

and i sink in the swell of the sea
where the stinging is most.

arrows find rest in pillows of flesh
and pain casts a symphony of loss
– the song sung sweetly,
his word whispered gently in the bark of a tree.
great things have been taken: i’ve given for thee
three gifts of water, pious sacrament
kisses between two damp palms.

devotion breaks soil and holds resolve
and how it loves, and loves, and loves
– pebbles mirror a blanket of stars,
the impenetrable mass of fiery constants
you chew, swallow, receive with haste.
feet sink heavy in the holy mire
breath lies hiding in the roots of a willow.